


The Nightmare

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Female Castiel/Male Dean Winchester, Brief but Graphic Torture, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nightmare comes for Dean when he falls asleep.</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place immediately after 4x10 - Heaven and Hell</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> (Small spoiler for 4x10 alert!)
> 
> I like reading people's thoughts about that shot of Castiel watching the Anna/Dean kiss. There is so much unspoken in that scene. Just ahh, one of my favorite SPN episodes for sure.
> 
> This is my take. Warning: here be angst -.-
> 
> Enjoy!

The nightmare comes for Dean when he falls asleep. It begins with flashes of Hellfire cutting through screams and blackness.

Pain follows. Fingers and toes are stripped from him. Arms and legs are sawed off. His eyes are ripped out and choked down his throat, and his intestines are drawn out and thrown like confetti. His heart is sliced and shoved against what remains of his face.

But, this is not the worst of Dean’s dream. The worst is reliving the times when he felt no pain. A decade in Hell, dispatching agony onto the next soul on the rack. Blood drips like fountain water from Dean's hands. He stares at it with a brutal, delighted smile.

Dean can't tell Sam this part, not yet. It was hard enough to admit to his role in the torture. He only lasted thirty years before he tapped out to Alastair. Dean Winchester - Daddy's perfect soldier. Thirty years was his breaking point. 

Admitting to his weakness was hard enough. How can he tell Sam how much he loved torturing souls? Little Sammy, who grew up thinking Dean could protect him from anything...

How can he tell Sam that their screams fell on deaf ears? That, sometimes, Dean would rub their blood on his face? That the feel of it, warm and thick, gave him the biggest hard-on imaginable?

Dean gives Sam so much shit for being different. He just had to go and use his psychic-whatever powers, when he should have been content with what Dad taught them. Dean won't stop either. Even though it makes him a hypocrite.

What Dad taught them? In the Pit, Dean chopped off dicks and made dudes eat them. He tore off tits and ripped through virgin cunts with his teeth. And the kids... He doesn't want to remember what he did to the kids.

Now, in this nightmare, Dean is a spectator to his own brand of torture. His victim's red hair spills down the rack. Her milky skin is carved in bloody geometric patterns. But it is her eyes that resonate - soft, inhuman eyes. Unfairly forgiving. 

"Anna," he whispers. 

Dean watches himself grab the chain whip, one of his favorite Hell toys. He beats her with it, cracking her bones with ease. Her screams echo through the infinite darkness.

With her grace restored, Dean should not be capable of doing this to her. But this is not the celestial being, he realizes. It's the human girl he betrayed. The angel is far from here, alone with her grace. Unable to return to Heaven and unwelcome on Earth. Another kind of Hell.

Suddenly, everything is gone. Anna. His double. The rack.

Dean is standing in a motel room. It is morning, he can tell by the early sunlight peering through the white curtains. 

The front door is burnt red, just clicking shut. Castiel leans against it. His wardrobe hasn't changed since the moment Dean first met him, trench coat and suit wrinkled and ill-fitting.

This isn't where Dean fell asleep. He's still dreaming, isn't he?

"You know, the whole 'rescue me from hell' thing was fine once. If you've gotta do it every time I sleep, it'll get old fast." 

Castiel's mouth thins to a tighter line, but he does not respond.

Dean raises a brow. Something is different about the angel, has been ever since the face-off with Alastair. He still looks like Cas, but his eyes have changed. Before, they were too perfect, like glass eyes on a stuffed bird. Painted on. Empty.

Now, Dean looks into Castiel's eyes, and he can tell the angel feels things. Maybe he's turning into something Dean can start to understand.

"So, you here to ream me out about Anna?" Dean asks.

Castiel steps forward. He still says nothing, but he shakes his head 'no.'

"Funny. Girl gets her mojo back, and all of a sudden you're in no hurry to kill her. Nah, you'll take your time. Angels, man." Dean smirks. "For warriors of God, you're real pussies sometimes." Yeah okay, Dean is pushing it. But he can’t help himself.

"Anna is dangerous," Castiel murmurs. He crosses the room to stand directly in front of Dean.

Dean shifts back. Dream or not, Castiel has a way of getting up in Dean's business. It's not normal dude behavior, and it skeeves Dean out.

"So, you _are_ scared," Dean says. His smug smile shows just what he thinks of the angel's hesitation.

Castiel shakes his head, then looks away. He always looks away right when he's trying to make a point. Super weird.

"She would kill me if we met without reinforcements," he explains. Dean raises a brow. Cas has a right to be scared, apparently.

"It's not death I'm afraid of," Castiel continues, as if he can read Dean's thoughts. ...Maybe he can. Crap. "It's- She was my leader once. I trusted her with my life. But she betrayed us."

"Dude, listen to yourself," Dean says. "She betrayed you? By what? Thinking for herself? Not towing the company line? Sounds like you all are compensating for something."

"Anna is a traitor to Heaven," Castiel insists. "She disobeyed God."

"I disobey God all the time, but He still sent you mooks in to break me out of Hell," Dean argues.

Just saying the word 'Hell' makes him feel violently ill. He closes his eyes against the sudden nausea. Screams beckon from the back of his consciousness.

When he opens them again, Castiel is watching him with concern. Dean doesn't like it.

He straightens himself and clears his throat. "So," Dean mumbles, "Anna's a bitch, and I'm an idiot for believing her. You made your point. Thanks for raising me out of dream-perdition. Now let me sleep until the real sun comes up."

Castiel tilts his head. "That isn't why I'm here, Dean."

"Okay?" Dean frowns at him.

"You saved me."

Dean's frown deepens. "Huh?"

Castiel takes another step closer, only there isn't a step of space between them to begin with. Cas is right up in his grill. Dean has to take a step back just to breathe.

"You saved me," Castiel repeats. His eyes are as large as when Alastair had him helpless on the ground.

It was Sam's plan to set the angels and demons on each other. Godzilla and Mothra, the whole bit. But Castiel getting stomped wasn't part of the plan. Dean's version of the plan, anyway.

Dean just did what any Good Samaritan would: he grabbed the closest pipe and clobbered Alastair's face with it. Didn't help much. If it hadn't been for Anna, Dean can only imagine what the demon had in store for payback.

Dean shrugs. " _Anna_ saved you, Cas. Us too. You want to thank someone, call her up. And, you know, quit trying to kill her while you're at it."

Castiel nods. He actually seems to consider the idea. "Yes, well." Castiel looks at him more earnestly. "There's time for that. For now, I owe you an apology."

"Damn right you do," Dean agrees. "You owe me a couple, actually. What's this one for?"

"My superiors told us you had promise," Castiel explains. "I believed them, of course. But I didn't realize," he squints at Dean pensively, "just how special you are, Dean."

Dean swallows. "Getting creepy, Cas."

"I'm supposed to be your guardian," Castiel says. "But you were mine that night, with Alastair. You saved me."

"I mean, you don't have to sound so surprised," Dean mutters. "I'm no angel, but I do good stuff too, once in awhile. ...What are you doing?"

The angel's fingers ghost against his, a dance of delicate contact.

"Cas?" Dean stares at him. "What-"

Castiel kisses Dean, and Dean stops talking. He stops breathing, too. Everything stops.

Castiel lingers just long enough to sigh. A brief, careful brush of contact. When he backs away, he looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean blinks. A moment passes, silent and strange.

Then, everything starts again.

Dean recoils on instinct. "The hell's wrong with you?" His expression darkens.

Castiel's curiosity becomes worry. "Did I...do something wrong?" he asks.

"You kissed me!" Dean stutters, blustering through pre-programmed disgust. "I'm a dude, you can't just- You don't just go around kissing dudes, Cas!"

Castiel's frown deepens. "But I-"

"Anna's the fallen angel? You kissed a guy. Isn't that, like, some big sin? The fuck's the matter with you!?" Castiel has been around long enough to understand how stuff works. Dudes kissing dudes - gross. Dudes kissing angel dudes - weird and _definitely_ not cool.

Never mind Dean's one gay thing, that was one time and...whatever.

His cultural wiring only shorts out when he sees Castiel's face. Not in the anger-blinded 'this idiot kissed me' way. Like, really sees his face.

Castiel is devastated.

He's turned his head away, eyes scanning the carpet for nonexistent answers. His breaths are shorter, and an awkward flush has spread across his cheeks. "I'm...no, I didn't mean... I'm sorry, Dean. I thought-"

"You thought I was gay? Damn it, Cas, come on!"

"It's not-" Castiel looks at him. His confusion is staggering. "My vessel is male, yes. But I- I owe you thanks, Dean. I owe you, like Anna."

There is way too much going on for Dean to wrap his brain around. For a quick, sardonic second, he thinks things were a less complicated in Dream Hell. At least there, it was pretty black-and-white that he was supposed to feel like a douchebag.

Now, he's an asshole again. But this mess? He doesn't know where to start. "What do you mean, you owe me like Anna?"

"It is not of import," Castiel says. His voice is quiet, pensive. "My vessel does not allow me to thank you in the human way. Am I right?"

"Thanking someone in the human way means saying 'thank you,' Cas," Dean replies. He has no idea what's going on. 

Castiel nods. The decisiveness of his expression bothers Dean. But Castiel is gone before he can voice his concern.

In his place, a woman appears. Her black hair is tied in a gloriously long ponytail, hanging down to mid-back. She wears a leather corset and red pants, fit to her strong thighs. Their seams just cover the tops of her studded boots.

Her breasts, though. Her breasts could bring a man to tears. They're perfect. Big. Soft. Round. Pushed up with tight cleavage. She wears a silver necklace., but does it have a charm at the end? Dean can't tell, the chain is lost in her bosom, buried treasure waiting to be uncovered.

But even her breasts are not the most noteworthy thing about her. It's her blue eyes. Eerily familiar, stalking him with unreadable intent.

Dean chews his cheek. "Hey, weren't you a cover chick for Busty Asian Beauties?"

"Perhaps," the woman replies. She takes Dean's hand and folds her fingers through his. It's a weird, chaste action for a broad dressed like she is. She smiles at him and runs her free hand up his shoulder to cup the back of his neck.

Dean has a really bad feeling about this. But…damn, she's hot.

She pulls his head down, and he doesn't put up a fight. Their lips meet.

Dean groans. God, she feels good, nibbling across his lower lip. He lets a hand drift down to her ass and pulls her towards him. Her body curves into his. She gasps her soft, delighted surprise.

Touching her, tasting her, is literally like fire. Dean thinks he might find burn marks on his body after this. Not exactly normal. But the unnatural feeling does not repel him. If anything, it makes him want to hold more of her.

He keeps a hand on her ass, his other sliding up between their bodies to cup one of her too-good-to-be-true breasts. Smirking, he thumbs at the outline of a nipple through her corset.

The woman gasps against his lips. "Thank you, Dean," she says.

Suddenly, it feels all wrong.

Dean grunts his frustration. Who the hell cares if this isn't real? She's a bombshell, and he isn't exactly a 10 on the moral scale of sex.

Besides, maybe there’s nothing weird going on. Maybe this is just a good dream. He survived Nightmare Hell and the awkward rift with Cas. Doesn’t he deserve at least a little of this?

And, okay, she talks like Cas. She has eyes like Cas. But come on, that doesn't _have_ to mean...

He pulls her closer to drown out his uncertainty. The woman sighs against his lips - more surprise, more delight.

Again, she whispers to him, "Thank you, Dean."

Dean's stomach churns. Damn it all. "Change back," he mutters.

She kisses a corner of his mouth and hums against his skin. Anything to pretend she has not heard him.

"Change. Back," Dean grits. He pushes her away.

The woman's head tilts with too-familiar confusion. "Why?" she asks. "I'm expressing my gratitude."

"This ain't you, and it's creepy."

She blinks, not comprehending. "This is me, Dean."

"It's not!" Dean argues. "You stole her off the cover of a porn rag, Cas. You possessing her too?"

"No. This is a dream, Dean," the woman says. With a smile, she winds her fingers through his and gives them a comforting squeeze. "We are not bound by Earth's restrictions here. I can create, like I created this room."

Dean looks around skeptically. "You made this craphole?"

The woman observes the room as well. "I modeled it on locations you and your brother frequent," she replies. "I thought it would be comforting."

"Before you got here, I was dreaming about Hell," Dean mumbles. "So okay, it works. But, seriously." He pulls his hand out of the woman's grasp. "Change back, Cas. Now."

The woman shakes her head, but she vanishes at his bidding. Seconds later, a bewildered Castiel stands in her place, restored to his male vessel. His mouth is wet and swollen.

Dean stares at it in wonder. If he was kissing some chick the angel conjured up for him, why would male Cas'... Nope, not thinking about Cas' mouth right now.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel says. "I'm afraid I don't understand the rules of human affection." 

"Yeah, you kinda suck at 'em," Dean agrees. His eyes are still on Castiel's mouth, despite his efforts to look at anything but.

"That night, Anna offered forgiveness and thanks in a way that words could not convey," Castiel explains. "She kissed you." Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. Awkward. "I also need to express thanks. Words are not enough. You saved me, Dean."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean grumbles. According to Cas, he's some kind of hero. Macho human, saving his guardian angel. So, why does he feel like a total dick?

"Look, Cas, you've saved my life more than once. Way I figure, we're even now. You don't have to kiss me, or send me busty broads, or whatever. Just, you're welcome. All right?"

Castiel nods and lowers his head. "Yes. I'm sorry. I...did everything wrong. This is all very new to me."

Jesus Christ on a tortilla. Now the angel's guilt tripping him.

Dean has no clue what he's doing. He just knows he has a hand under Castiel's chin before he can stop himself. Castiel looks at him curiously, swollen lips parted just enough for Dean to see the pink of his tongue.

"God help me," Dean mutters. Which is really, really not the right thing to say right now.

When Dean kisses Castiel, it's to make the angel stop with the broken, chick flick eyes. And to make Dean stop looking at Cas' mouth. Two birds with one stone. Once this is over, they can pretend nothing happened. It was just a dream...heh.

Only, yeah no.

Kissing Cas, kissing his real vessel, isn't like kissing the chick Cas made for him. It's like kissing her times every number math can come up with.

Castiel starts to pull away. His mouth is already forming a ‘thank you,’ but he does not get to say it. Before he can make a sound, Dean’s fist is on his coat, and he’s pulled the angel in for seconds.

He's a dude, yeah, down to the stubble rasping on Dean's skin. But Castiel feels more like...well, something that isn't man or woman. Dean can sense something inhuman under Castiel's body, white-hot energy boxed in his bones. Just touching him makes goosebumps jump out on Dean’s skin. Electricity shatters through his veins, like human arousal turned up on high.

Damn it. This is way above his pay grade. 

Dean planned on one little peck. ‘There ya go, Cas. You thanked me. Done.’ Then, Dean could get back to sleep without the guilt of making his guardian angel feel like a putz.

But yeah, that plan is going to shit. As is the plan to stay freaked out about kissing a guy.

Dean has no clue what's gotten into himself. He isn't just kissing Castiel. He's touching him, and he can't make himself stop. His fingers are in his hair, on his face, under his coat. He yanks on Castiel's shirt and his tie, making a mess of everything.

And, what do you know? The celestial being might be a Ken doll, but the vessel is working just fine. Dean feels something hard forming against his waist. An angel springing a boner on him? Really?

Only problem is, Dean kind of wants it. He _really_ kind of wants it.

...Yeah, totally screwed.

Dean reaches down and cups the forming bulge in Castiel's pants. He's going to need serious therapy after this, but fuck, he can't control his hands. Dean fits his palm to Castiel and gives him a squeeze. Castiel, startled, moans against Dean's mouth.

Dean Winchester just made an Angel of the Lord moan. Holy shit.

Castiel stares at him, eyes large with awe. "Thank you, Dean," he whispers. His voice is even more hoarse than usual. The sound shoots straight to Dean's groin, and he has to bite his lip to fight back a groan of his own. Jesus.

"You sure you want to thank me now?" Dean asks. He lifts a brow suggestively. "How 'bout in a few minutes?"

The implication should be clear, but this is Cas. He looks confused, then intrigued, then sad and ashamed. "I...no. I did not come here for selfish reasons," Castiel says. "I came to show my gratitude. And I came to make sure you're all right. You have been through a lot, Dean."

Dean _has_ been through a lot. But he doesn't feel like dwelling on his own problems. Dean would much rather tear Castiel out of his shabby, untailored suit.

But Castiel won't let him, Dean realizes. He could throttle the damn angel. It's Castiel's fault they're in this mess, with his mopey eyes and bullshit 'I owe you like Anna' spiel. Dean would have been fine saying ‘you’re welcome’ and going their separate ways. But no, Cas had to guilt trip him. Make Dean kiss him.

Now, he’s feeling like a damn junkie off his drugs. The loss of the angel’s energy has left him cold.

"Stay, Cas," Dean says, then blinks. What the hell?

Castiel looks surprised too. But he moves away before his stare lingers too long. "Dean." His eyes soften. "You can't blame yourself. I saved you because you are a righteous man."

"Cas." Between the torture, Anna, and what they just did, the last thing Dean wants to hear about is righteousness.

"You're worthy," Castiel says. "I see it. You will too, before the end."

" _Cas_."

A light switch is flipped, and everything goes black. Dean hears the flutter of wings stretching in the distance. Screams echo through his consciousness, and the burn of Hellfire licks at his heels.

Dean wakes up with the worst crick in his neck ever. He is slumped in the driver's seat of the Impala, arms wrapped around himself. 

Sam is sitting in the backseat, looking over some files. He raises his head when his brother stirs. "You ok?"

"Ugh. Need a bed and a hot Swiss chick to rub me down," Dean mutters.

He massages the sore knot on his neck, eyes on the steering wheel. But he doesn't see the car. He sees blood, demon eyes, and an angel at the door.

"Hey, uh, Sammy. You got a case for us yet or what?"

Another case is just what Dean needs. And after that, another case. And another.

Who needs sleep when people out there need help? Not Dean. He'll stay awake, safe from the memories of souls torn to shreds by his hands.

And safe from the angel who just wanted to say thank you. The one who took everything Dean thought he knew and ripped it all apart.

*The End*


End file.
